Willow REALLY Screwed Up This Time
by FlitShadowflame
Summary: Rated for language, quickly terminated femslash, and eventual mm slash. Willow and Tara get one tiny little specific wrong and suddenly all the Scoobs are in a world of trouble. Permanent hiatus unless I get petitioned.
1. A Spell Gone Horribly Wrong

The Buffy timeline has been MAULED. Tara's not dead, Anya and Xander never had the disastrous episode at the altar, (but they're engaged) Spike's not dust, and Dawn knows she's the Key. Oz is in England and has left Tibet already, but is also affected by the spell, and becomes very, very confused.

Oh, and Joyce is dead, Angel and his group are in L.A., and Faith is in jail.

Willow hadn't meant to screw up the spell. Especially screw it up similarly to a prior screw up. But she managed, even with Tara helping her. The spell meant to give the Scoobies – Giles, Anya, Xander, Spike, Buffy, Dawn, Willow, and Tara – all the energy and hope they had at age eleven, chosen to be the best year by all of them ended up . . .

Well, they were eleven. All of them. They had a large percentage of their memories, though many were vague. They understood subconsciously why they were eleven. But the problem was, neither Willow nor Tara had their powers developed enough at that age to change them back.

And whooo, man, Giles was pissed.

"BLOODY FUCKIN' HELL! Y' DON' THINK, DO YOU!?" he raged. Obviously, eleven had been a verbose time for the British man.

Spike, however, was back to his brunet, mop-haired former self. Sun-resistant skin and all. He was enjoying it, too, for about five minutes. Then Giles began to irk him, and, well . . . something exploded.

And then he remembered (Oh SHIT) that he hadn't been the most NORMAL eleven year old.

Anya looked at him. Her eyes were bright. "You went to Hogwarts too, didn't you?" He could hear the cockney in her voice.

"You did?"

Giles turned. "Anya? Spike? You're a witch and wizard?"

"Watcher?"

"I am too. Or, was, then. I dunno."

"I went t-to the A-American W-witches' Academy. It's all-g-girls . . . I think there's a boy's magic school s-somewhere in Maine."

Willow gave her lover a sympathetic look. Then she played with her newly long hair, until Xander tugged a strand, giggling.

"XANDER!"

Buffy giggled too, twirling a bright, bouncy blonde curl around her finger.

The Scoobies decided arguing was pointless. Since it was almost one a.m. and they now had growing bodies that needed rest, all of them went to sleep.

Dawn smirked. Her sister was now her fraternal twin. Of course, they had basically been twins to begin with, what with her being a clone . . . which made her happy, since she wasn't a ball of energy. She had been concerned for a minute that she would be, because she hadn't really existed when she would have been eleven.

And then the Key drifted off to sleep.

---

Across the globe in England, Oz looked at himself, cursing mentally.

"I really, really hope this is a nightmare."

That was a pretty lame first chapter. I realize this.


	2. Spike to Specs, and an Invitation

Back again! Not gonna say much, I'm trying to get all of this down in Word while it's still in my head. Oh, and Anya is supposed to be what, 1100? Too bad, she's a little more than 650.

Willow woke up, looked at herself, and sighed in disappointment. She had kinda hoped it was a bad dream . . . or at least that the affects would wash off overnight.

"W-willow?" Tara asked faintly, rolling over in the bed. Even though they hadn't made love the night before . . . I mean, ew, eleven . . . they liked sleeping in each other's arms. It made the situation a little easier to bear.

"Yeah," the red-haired Wiccan replied, somewhat disheartened by her failure.

"It was m-my fault as much as yours, baby. I'm sure no one blames you. B-besides, I don't."

Willow smiled. "And you're all that matters. Let's get some breakfast."

The eleven-year-old Wiccans descended the stairs and grabbed their favorite cereals.

"There you two are! Here, you've got letters from Dumbledore," Spike smiled. It was an odd, very warm and wholesome smile. It very nearly scared Willow, but what was even more frightening than a smiling, kiddie Spike was smiling, kiddie Spike with curly brown hair and – GLASSES?

Ok, that just made her laugh.

Tara shared in her amusement. "N-nice s-specs, Spike."

"Call me Will." The boy pulled a face. "Ugh. Bratling's tryin' t' take over . . . dammit. I'munna have split-personality disorder from this."

"How 'bout we just call you Will, and Spike lets the "bratling" take over until we're done. None of our actions as eleven-year-olds will be brought up again when this is over."

"Erm, Buffy . . . I'm not sure it'll ever be over. There's a possibility we'll have to just . . . grow up."

Everyone looked at Giles.

"Uh . . . maybe Tara and I should see those letters S- Will was talking about."

"Right." The heavy parchment envelopes were handed over.

Willow Roseburg

The second floor East bedroom

Sunnydale, California

U.S.A.

Tara MacClay

The second floor East bedroom

Sunnydale, California

U.S.A

The former and probably future lovers looked at one another.

"Are these from H-Hogwarts?"

The unoccupied Scoobies nodded assent, and the duo opened their letters, discovering a multitude of odd things. Well, odd to Willow. Tara had seen similar lists before.

"Dear Miss Rosenburg,

I am aware of your group's interesting situation, and would like to offer you all the chance of a second education, this time a magical one. Since I sincerely doubt there is any kind of cure to your current states, I advise you to take me up on it. You might find it difficult to operate as a gaggle of children.

All of you have definite magic, which should have been picked up by the American Ministry of Magic . . . though I believe you call it the American Magic Department, and it works under the radar with the government. The Secretary of Magic, Jolie Mitchell, is a great friend of mine, though she frequently overlooks things. How she missed you, the Misses Summers, and Mr. Harris is beyond me. It must have something to do with your proximity to the Hellmouth. Even so, I am glad she picked up on Miss McClay.

Forgive an old man's wheezing waffle. You've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr. Giles will know where to get your things, and I'll send a teacher along at noon to make the going easier. If you accept, follow.

Good luck!

--_Albus Dumbledore_

Willow stared at the missive, highly dumbfounded.

"Um . . . does 'Wow' about sum it up?"

Buffy smiled. "Pretty much, Wills."

"Well, there's one thing, I guess."

"What do you mean?" the blonde . . . er, Former Slayer? asked.

"You're a former popular girl, but you're actually being nice. So I guess that means we haven't completely reverted to our eleven year old personalities."

"Yet," Spike . . . uh, Will, corrected moodily. So I guess that means it was Spike.

"Shuddup, not-so-dead-boy."

"Give it a rest, will you? We were both nerds in Primary School. I thought nerds had some small amount of loyalty to one another?"

"Honestly, Xander, if it weren't such an awful pun, I'd tell you to quit being so juvenile."

Dawn smirked. "Heh. Juvenile." Then she noted how often she was smirking. Twice in half a day. That can't be a good sign.

"Dawn," Buffy said warningly.

"Well, not too rain on everyone's parade with serious questions, but . . . are we going?" Xander asked.

"Of course! We have new . . . er, old abilities we finally have a chance to learn to control," Willow told him. She looked at the Hogwarts grads and her girlfriend. "You four can back out, though . . . since you already learned how once."

"Nonsense. I want to see the updates in the Hogwarts curriculum," Will smiled faintly. There was a growl, and then, "Bugger that, I did school once, an' it nearly bored me ter deaf. No way I'm gonna go through hell again."

Willow and Tara looked at each other. They were definitely going to research a cure for split-personalities when they had time.

Ripper groaned. One of the few spells he actually remembered, and he didn't have his wand. He dashed up to his room, rifled through an old box of books, and finally dug it up. Then the boy-Watcher slid down the stair-rail and shouted Latin at the former vampire.

"Thank you, Rupert," William informed him cordially. It was as though it was a prefect blend of William the Bloody from the eighteen to late nineteen hundreds, Spike the souled vampire of yesterday, and William of Victorian England.

"Damn. I was almos' hopin' for Spike," Ripper scowled.

"I daresay my bloody counterpart would have been poor company."

"Perhaps, but you're dead annoying."

"NO ARGUMENTS," Buffy said in a loud, commanding tone. As loud and commanding as a tiny eleven year old could be, in any case.

"I'm all for going back to Hogwarts. I want to see if I'm in any of the books," Anya said happily. Everyone looked at her, confused.

"What?!" she snapped.

"Anya, what are you saying? I can't understand a word of it," Willow told her.

"Oh no. I'm speaking Old English. DAMMIT."

The others looked at her again.

"Hold on, I think that's . . . Old English? From . . . the twelfth century?"

"Aye, 1335 in the year of our Lord," Anya sighed.

"Finally, something we can understand," Xander muttered.

"Can you concentrate very hard on speaking more current English?"

"Even English English is preferable," Buffy told her with a slight hairflip. Then the blonde looked appalled.

"I'm terribly sorry . . . is this understandable?"

"Yeah, th-that's good," Tara sighed.

"So what were ya sayin' before?" Ripper asked.

"Oh. I just want to go to Hogwarts. Again."

"Good. Me too," the youngest Brit (experience, not appearance) agreed.

"I am looking forward to reliving my childhood," William informed them loftily.

"Lighten up, Specs," Buffy laughed. "I'm all for this Brit school."

Everyone else seemed to be pro-Hogwarts as well. By the end of the day, William was even becoming less upperclass Victorian gentleman and more the grungy Spike that young, carefree Buffy liked. Though instead of Spike, he was now officially dubbed "Specs."

---

Oz read the letter again, confusion in his eyes.

"Hello, Daniel."

"Oz," he corrected the other man mildly, not even glancing away from the missive. And then, another word. "Why?"

"Well, Headmaster Dumbledore is under the impression living on the Hellmouth masked your aura from the American authorities. If you like, you'll attend Hogwarts."

The teacher watched his young charge pace. His reticence was becoming unnerving.

"Okay. Money?"

"Hogwarts will provide all your school things, naturally. On the downside, you'll be rather in the school's debt. I compensated with a year as a teacher, this will be my second, and several small donations through my years of adulthood."

---

"Hey Specs, anything good on?" Xander sighed, vaulting over the couch and sliding down next to the guy he was no longer really comfortable with hating.

"Not really, Xand-man. You brought popcorn?"

"Mhmm," the darker-haired boy popped a mouthful. Specs went to the Turner Classic Movies channel.

"West Side Story!" the boys chorused.

"I love that one. I wish I'd been alive to see it come out," Xander sighed.

Specs grinned. "I did, mate. It was wonderful. Tha' Natalie, she's somethin'. 'Course, she was crazy as a loon, but a good bint when she walked on camera."

"I think my favorite would have to be Bernardo . . . the guy's a great dancer, even if he's gayer than a leprechaun parade."

"Leprechauns are mean creatures, Xand-man. Nothin' gay about 'em – whether ya mean happy or homosexual."

"Well, Bernardo's a pretty mean creature too. Who's your gang of choice, Jets or Sharks?"

"Sharks, no doubt. They're the underdog, fighting for a foothold. Jets remind me too much of the Nazis."

"And character?"

"Oh, Baby John. Kid's way too innocent to be on the street, poor bloke. Needs some serious TLC."

"Favorite gang's Sharks, but your favorite character's a Jet?"

"So? Baby John – B.J. as I called him," Specs and Xander grinned at the thought. "Anyway, B.J. was just the picture of innocence. Poor little guy. I remember a distinct desire to drink from him. Bet he would've been tasty."

"Specs, dude, remember . . . human now. People food. No biting."

Specs pouted, then burst out laughing in the same instant as Xander.

Willow and Tara smiled at each other. "To think, they've been at each other's throats . . . thankfully only figuratively . . . ever since Spike walked into town. But now they're best friends, it seems."

"They would have been a long time ago if they had the sense to see past their history."

"Twenty-three year old Xander might hold a grudge to the death, but eleven year old Xander's energy was entirely devoted to avoidance – more particularly, avoiding bullies and his father."

"Spike – heh, it seems so funny to call him Specs now – Specs always seemed to be searching for forgiveness, acceptance. Xander at eleven is easygoing. He allows for a lot, which is what Specs always wanted. I mean, he was rejected by his entire line, largely a tag-along. He was rejected by Cecily and his peer group. He's repeatedly rejected by Buffy for love and Xander for any form of friendship. His own Grandsire, the only other Master Vampire left in the line of Aurelius, wouldn't give him a glance if it would save his life."

Specs called out, probably having heard their quiet talk over the muted commercials. "Corrections, Glinda luv, Peaches the Poofter is, in fact, my Sire. It's a long story I really don't want to go into."

Willow and Tara shared another look of theirs.

"Speaking of my poncy git of a souled Sire," Will muttered to himself when the door burst open half an hour later, at a quarter 'til eleven.


	3. Insert Angel, Except Not Really

A/N: heyhey, sorry for the cliffie. Dunno Spike's real age so settled for an extreme approximation. I think he's about 120 to 150, but 180 gives it the "from now 'till I'm dust" feel a bit better.

The vampire slammed the door behind him, brushing the last hints of fire off. Angel's eyes searched the rooms he could see. He then stalked a few paces out.

"Where did the kids come from?" he called out loudly.

"'ey Poofter," a familiar, irritating voice called out. He turned for his bleached-blond Childe, but found only two brunet boys in the direction of the sound, a couch. The curly mop to his left was startlingly familiar, however.

"William?" he asked, disbelieving. Both boys turned. "Xander?"

Each nodded to his name, clearly amused by the old vampire's surprise. "But you're human, and you're . . . a whole lot younger."

William and Xander shared a glance, then nodded to this as well.

"Hello Angel!" Willow called out from the kitchen. "I know this must be very bewildering, but see, there was a spell, and a component went slightly wrong, and now . . . we're all eleven years old again."

"All?"

"Yeah, Buffy, Giles, and Anya too."

Tara peeked out from behind the redhead. "Hi."

"Hello," Angel said distractedly.

"Why are you here, Sire?" a cool, aristocratic voice asked him. Angel jumped – just his Childe, teasing him again.

"Er, there was a demon infestation . . . but I suppose the Scoobies really wouldn't be a whole lot of help as eleven year olds, so, uh, I'll just go."

"No, it's alright, you can stay," Ripper told him, twirling his wand idly about his fingers. Angel winced, the implement of magic was a bit too stake-shaped for his pleasure.

"Can I talk with my – with William? Alone?"

The others obligingly left the room. Will looked up at his eyes, the same, damnably innocent eyes on him that had brought about the creation of a new Childe.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Childe, be careful. I know you're moving to a different place. Keep safe, I want my boy back."

William bit back an angry reply, he had no defenses in this young, fragile body. But oh, he wanted to scream the denials, to inform his cruel Sire that while the vampire may possess his blood by command, as was his Sire's right to do, it was Buffy he belonged to, heart and soul, eleven or one hundred and eighty.

"I'll take care of myself."

Angel left, running for his sun-proofed car and trying not to fry. Specs watched him go from the front lawn, confused by the swirl of feelings telling him be this -- be that -- be angry -- be happy.

He settled on returning to the indoors.

Not two seconds later, however, the doorbell rang. He opened it again, wondering who could possibly have managed to reach the door in the amount of time between turning around in the yard and closing the front entrance behind him.

"Hello. You must be William. Er, William Leigh?"

Specs nodded. "You're the professor?"

"Er, yes. Professor Vector, Arithmancy. You'll be attending?"

"Yes, everyone will."

"And, er, where are the others?"

"That's Xander. Xan, where's everyone else?"

"Um, upstairs," young Harris answered without taking his eyes from the television.

"Come with me, both of you. It's time to go, Xan." Xander got up reluctantly.

Both boy and man followed the mop-haired, bespectacled youth, and he led them quickly to the rest of the Scoobies.

"Guys, this is Professor Vector. Rip', you know 'im?"

"Ah, Professor Vector! I remember your class."

"It will be a strange thing, to teach a student twice."

"Well, I probably won't take Arithmancy again . . . having already passed it, you see."

"I suppose that does make sense. Well now, shouldn't we be getting on? Everyone, gather around. For you Muggle-borns – that means raised non-magic – this is a portkey. Portkeys can be made out of any object, be it a crumpled newspaper, an old sock, or a yogurt cup. Usually they're made of something small, innocent, and that looks like trash, so the Muggles don't pick them up and get accidentally sent somewhere. Now all of you, touch the hat and we'll be off in five, four, three . . . two . . . one!"

The Scoobies felt a jerk at the navel and suddenly they were in Diagon Alley.

"Now Rupert, William, Anyanka, if you three don't mind sharing, we can get the shopping done a lot faster."

Specs shrugged, and Ripper grimaced. Anya, however, was torn between helping her friends and keeping all her lovely money.

It had, after all, six hundred years of interest, not to mention the odd deposit she left.

"I'll share, but not a whole bloody lot, y' understand? I got seven years to go. This is for convenience only and I expect repayment, because this is a loan. Maybe if yer nice it'll be reduced price and no interest," Specs told them.

"I, however, will charge interest. It's more economical!" Anya smiled brightly.

Ripper shifted uncomfortably. "Er, I really haven't got much of a fortune. It might manage to cover two people's expenses reasonably comortably, but without further income, it seems highly improbable that another er, student could be funded by, um, my meager savings."

"Don't worry. You'll all be reimbursed for school supplies later, this is entirely for convenience."

"Well all right then," Specs smiled.

"I suppose," consented Anya.

"Yes, that should do it."

The visit to Gringotts was dull – the vault owners took their borrowers down with them, money was removed in varying quantities, there were threats of loss of body parts for late refunds.

The group split up after that, to better purchase their new supplies. Anya took Xander with her, vowing to show him all the wonders of Diagon Alley. She hadn't mentioned orgasms yet, which he supposed he should be thankful for. Since it would be rather difficult to perform at this age.

Willow and Tara wandered off to muddle through it together. Tara had a basic understanding of this Wizarding Hub, but some store names were unfamiliar. She had, after all, only been acquainted with their American counterparts.

Bright, happy Buffy allowed Specs to lead her about the mini-mall. He's cute, her eleven-year-old mind observed. And sweet, and funny.

Specs smiled at his charge. She's so cute with her hair like that . . . that smile's so radiant, and her eyes . . . oh, they're burnin'.

Dawn followed the two lovebirds in disgust. Eleven and there still at each other like this.

Ripper had no trouble navigating the Alley alone. He had visited the place not long before becoming Buffy's Watcher, and the memories of the place were firmly set in his mind.

---

Oz followed Professor Lupin silently. They had just traipsed halfway across London without speaking a word.

Finally, the boy could no longer disguise his curiousity.

"Werewolf?"

He saw the man's back stiffen and knew he had struck a nerve. Knew he was most likely correct.

"Yes, Daniel, I am."

"Ok."

"That doesn't . . . bother you?"

Oz shrugged. "Why? Three nights a month you become a vicious, cold-blooded man-hater, but so do women."

Remus Lupin laughed uproarously. "God, boy, no one's pulled off a joke like that about lycanthropy in _years."_

"Who?"

"My best friend. Sirius was his name."

"Dead."

"You're bloody observant, boy, anyone ever tell you that?"

Oz shrugged. "See the body?"

Lupin looked outright appalled. "I watched him die, yes."

"Not my question."

"No. He fell through a . . . veil, I suppose the word is."

"Probably not dead."

"Well – what?"

"Ok. This "veil" had Sirius pass through but not come back out, right? It stands to reason, then, that it's not really a veil, but a portal – to a different dimension. I had a friend go through a portal to a Hell Dimension. He got back out, but it was centuries there, just a few weeks here. I'm -guessing- this veil went to another dimension, and you're friend is there. You don't have to worry about the rules on resurrections, because he's most likely not dead." Oz fell silent after that, impressed with his speech.

Lupin blinked. "So a finding spell would work all the same."

"So long as he wasn't killed in the other dimension, yes. But he sounds to be a smart man."

"Yes, well. I only wish he USED those brains of his more often. Would you mind telling me how you recognized my . . . condition?"

"Was one."

"And you . . . aren't now?"

"Bad spell. Can't feel the wolf."

"Ah. D'you mind . . ."

"Sorry. Don't even know."

"Er, alright then."


	4. A Chapter of Mostly Oz

A/N: 'allo. Chapter four.

Oz quietly gathered his school things, watching Lupin more than considering the supplies. The older man reminded him very strongly of himself.

"We still need your wand, Daniel."

"Oz."

"Sorry?"

"My friends call me Oz."

Lupin smiled. "Oz, then. Well, Ollivanders is the only place for it," the Professor stated, leading him to a shop near the end of the nicer part of the alley. Even without his werewolf's nose, he could sense the evil not much further down.

"Ah, Mr. Lupin. I imagine you're happy that bill wasn't passed."

Lupin tensed, obviously knowing exactly which bill Ollivander referred to. "Yes, actually."

"Going to teach again, I hear?"

"Professor Dumbledore believed me suitable for the position."

"Who's the boy? Relation?"

"Daniel Ozbourne. He'll be needing a wand."

Oz watched the exchange, perfectly content to remain silent. He noted the measuring tape circling him in all manners and looked at it out of the corner of his eye.

"Ah, I see it now. Be careful in the future, Mr. Ozbourne. You've encountered darkness before, and escaped, this time, perhaps, you will not be so fortunate."

The boy chouldn't shake the feeling that Ollivander actually WANTED him to be a werewolf again.

"Try this one, willow, nine and a half, unicorn mane hair."

Oz had barely touched the slender bit of wood before it was snatched back. "No, no, definitely nothing unicorn for you. Dragon heart-string, perhaps?" he wondered aloud, pulling out another wand. "Give it a wave."

A large explosion occurred, almost making Oz blink. Instantly another wand was in his grasp. "Chinese fireball, Yew, eleven."

This time, absolutely nothing happened, making Ollivanders create a bemused, if nonplussed, noise, and snatch it back, searching for something more adequate.

"Here! Hungarian horntail, willow, just over ten – and how did this get in here?" he frowned, then glanced at Oz. "But perhaps . . . well, maybe that would be fitting, after all. Try it."

The wand felt like it fit perfectly in Oz's hand, and once swished, it gave a gorgeous lightshow of gold and bronze, as well as a loud howl.

Ollivanders seemed satisfied, telling Remus the price and handing over the box for the wand. Oz was sorely tempted to ask what had given the other man a start, but Lupin beat him to the punch.

"Oh, just a little bit more beast in that wand than I expected. I don't remember putting that last hair in, but I was attempting some peculiar experiments that day . . ."

"Ollivander," growled the werewolf. "What was in it."

"A bit of you, Mr. Lupin, if you must know."

Next came an out-right snarl. "How dare you," the man snapped. "There are compliance contracts, even with dragons. Even with the TREES, agreements must be reached. When, exactly, did you snatch off one of my hairs, -Mr.- Ollivander," sneered the man. "When I came here for my first wand? During one of my changes? Did you find it somewhere in the Shrieking Shack? Or did you decide werewolves don't deserve privacy and come pluck it off my back after I took the potion?"

Ollivander looked at him haughtily. "I had Dumbledore's permission to be in the Forest that night, and I hadn't the foggiest idea it was you I found."

Lupin put a firm hand on Oz's shoulder, leading the young boy out of the shop with one final glare at the wand-maker.

"PROFESSOR LUPIN!" someone shouted happily.

"Hello, Ron," smiled the werewolf warmly. A sixteen year old boy gave the other male a firm, happy handshake, and a girl of the same age ran up.

"Hello, Professor!" she chirped.

"Hello, Hermione. Oz, these are two of my former students, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ron, Hermione, this is Daniel Ozbourne. Mainly referred to as -"

"Oz," the boy himself interrupted, shaking hands politely with both witch and wizard.

"Are you going to be at Hogwarts, then?" smiled the girl. Oz nodded with his mysterious half-grin. "Hope you're in Gryffindor, that's our house."

Ron looked eagerly back at his ex-professor. "Are you to be teaching again? Or just on Phoenix business?"

Oz filed the word phoenix in the back of his mind, certain Ron meant something far more than the immortal bird.

"Both, actually. Oz was victim to a unique spell, along with some other Americans."

The former werewolf's ears pricked near-visibly at that.

He didn't have long to wonder, however.

Willow and Tara happily strolled Diagon Alley. They had just completed their uniform fittings, and were headed to the wand-shop to better occupy the time until their things would be done.

Mr. Ollivander swung into view on a rolling ladder, the manner they have in large libraries with high shelves.

"Hello, Misses Rosenburg, MacClay. You're in for wands? Not you, of course, Miss MacClay, you had one of that American cousin of mine's, didn't you?"

"A-actually, I need a n-new one . . . my d-dad kind of . . ."

Ollivander's eyes clouded. "It's alright, Miss MacClay. What was your old one, perhaps I have something similar."

"It w-was u-unicorn tail-hair, uh, eleven inches, a-and, willow-wood."

"Very good. This one's a bit shorter, mane instead of tail, but give it a go."

Tara gave the wand a sharp flick, and blue and bronze sparks filled the room.

"A Ravenclaw, most certainly. And, Miss Rosenburg? Hm, Norwegian Ridgeback, yew, not too long. A dark wand, that."

Willow shivered, and barely touched the wand before it was yanked back.

"No, no. Pine or ash for you, definitely. Paper-trees. And phoenix, yes, yes . . ."

He wandered off among the wand-stacks, returning a few seconds later. "Here, eight and three quarters, Augery feather, pine."

Willow gave it a flick like Tara had, and more blue and bronze sparks washed the scene.

They paid for their wands and left the store, hardly expecting to see who they did.

Oz started when someone called his name. Two girls, familiar ones at that, were rushing up. "Oz, did the spell get you too? Oh, Goddess, I'm so sorry, we didn't mean to do anything like this to you, of course, we didn't mean to do anything like this to ourselves, either, and are you still a – no, you're not, but is that because – of course, I'm being stupid, but is that – wait, is that man a werewolf?"

Oz smiled. "Willow." He turned to the blonde. "Tara," he nodded cordially.

"O-oz," she stammered, making him smile slightly and embrace her.

"It's okay. And yes, Wil'."

"Oh. I babbled, didn't I?"

Both her college love-interests smiled and nodded.

She whined and hit Oz lightly in the shoulder. "You're supposed to tell me when I do that!"

The two sixth year Gryffindors smiled at the endearing scene.

"And who are you three people!?" Willow demanded. "And what are you doing with my Oz!?"

Oz rolled his eyes mentally, throwing an arm around her, first looking to the silent Tara. She seemed subdued, but alright with his physical contact with both their former girlfriend.

"I'm Hermione Granger, this is my boyfriend Ron Weasley, and one of our teachers, Professor Lupin. I believe Professor Lupin was helping 'Your Oz' buy his school supplies, and we both had to come up and say hello."

Willow blushed. "Sorry, I get . . . enthusiastic. So, you two go to Hogwarts? Tell me all about it!"

Ron looked thrilled to tell the girl who could easily have been related to him all about his school.

Oz glanced at Tara. "Who else?"

"A-all the Scoobies. Wh-when we set the spell, we didn't mean t-to include you, but I guess we can't really consider you NOT a S-scooby. Anyway, it was supposed to only give the energy and hope, but we all ended up changing forms. W-which was fine by Spike, because he's human now, b-but do you mind?"

Oz shook his head, flashing five digits twice.

"Five by f-five and silent a-as ever," smiled Tara. "Listen, Oz, I'm sorry about Willow, b-but sh-she needed s-someone, a-and I-I d-didn't know. A-and you d-did l-leave her th-there."

The boy shrugged. "No prob'. You're plenty good for her."

Tara blushed. "S-still."

Ex-werewolf Scooby just shrugged again. "Friends?"

"Y-yeah!" she replied, happy. Tara hated having people not like her.

Willow turned back to her ex. "Oz, as glad as I am that you and Tara are getting along, I don't think there's a single bed left in the Leaky Cauldron – at least, not in any of the rooms we have rented. Since Professor Lupin's been your escort this far, do you mind terribly much if you DON'T share with Ripper, Specs – Spike – and Xander?"

Oz shrugged, making Willow grin wryly. "Still not much of a talker, eh? Mr. Lupin, do you mind at all?"

The werewolf shrugged too, making everyone laugh . . . but not in unison, because that's WAY too "low-budget-nineties-sitcom."

"I don't mind. I've been solitary for too long," he said, looking sad and distant.

Ron and Hermione made a joint sympathetic noise, knowing he was still mourning Sirius, after just a few months.

Oz touched the older man's elbow gently, reminding him of their earlier conversation.

-

Buffy and Specs chatted amiably about the school supplies, and Specs even managed to engage the ex-cheerleader in a talk about books.

Dawn was in shock. They were falling in love all over again. At least now, she mused, we KNOW the boy's not a vamp and has a soul. Oh God . . . what if Faith got hit too? What if there's an eleven year old girl in a women's penintentiary for no reason she can really remember? What if there's no Slayer now?

She voiced her thoughts in a quick jumble to Buffy, who looked contemplative and scared at once.

"We have to owl Dumbledore," Specs told them gravely, and they hurried back to the Leaky Cauldron.

I kinda just thought of that loophole up yonder. I'm considering Faith becoming a little bitty girl again, but then I'd probably have the women rape her, and I rape people too much already.

How about you guys vote on it?

But the key ingredient in the spell was who the casters thought of as Scoobies. Of course, the targets are now eleven and with uncontrolled magic and a spell gone wrong coursing their veins.

Needless to say, the Elevensies are not a finalized group yet.

--Chroni


End file.
